


Let it Circle Back Around

by sarcasticsra



Series: Lost and Found [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:37:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticsra/pseuds/sarcasticsra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/974245">With Words Strung Together</a>. Harold is bad at this, but that's okay--he has plenty of help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Circle Back Around

**Author's Note:**

> And here we have the final part! YAY. Thanks to Kelly for the beta, and MORE THANKS AND SOME HEAPING OF PRAISE for Orockthro for drawing me YET ANOTHER THING that is gorgeous and perfect. It's embedded in this part, for ease of viewing.

Harold couldn’t sleep.

He glanced around the hotel room. After their brief discussion in the library, Grace had decided she wanted them to take some time apart to think about all the things they needed to say. John had gone back to his loft, Grace back to her brownstone, and he hadn’t felt like going back to any of the safehouses he owned, not tonight.

Hotels had always suited his purposes for anonymity. Tonight hadn’t been any different in that respect: he’d had a perfectly anonymous dinner, gone up to his perfectly anonymous room, and spent a great deal of time looking out his window, at the view of the perfectly anonymous city below.

Strange, how it wasn’t as much of a comfort as it used to be.

\---

The morning at the library was a terse, awkward affair—John barely spoke to him, and Shaw kept dropping thinly-veiled barbs. He was actually relieved to send them out on their assignments, looking into the life of one Mr. Eugene Wilson, an accountant who recently moved to the city from Buffalo.

He pulled up as much information as he could and performed some routine maintenance, trying to keep his mind occupied on other things. Unfortunately, he was too used to multitasking, and the case so far was not sufficiently all-consuming to keep his thoughts from veering into uncharted waters.

He shouldn’t have said what he’d said last night. It'd been impulsive, something he usually tried to avoid at all costs—he did not have the highest success rate with such decisions. This would be no different.

“Finch.” John’s voice filtered in suddenly. “Saw some guys hanging around Wilson’s apartment building, acting suspicious. Sending you pictures now.”

His phone buzzed a moment later, and Harold pulled up the pictures. They certainly did look suspicious. He set up the facial recognition software. “I’ll see what I can find, Mr. Reese, but perhaps we should keep an eye on them in the meantime. Ms. Shaw, are you still following Mr. Wilson?”

“Yeah. He’s a pretty paranoid guy for someone supposedly just going to work—constantly looking over his shoulder. I haven’t been able to get close enough to jack his phone, either. He must keep the Bluetooth turned off.”

“We’ll have to find a way to separate him from his phone long enough to clone it,” he said. “It seems that the accounting firm he works at hires their IT work out to another company. I’ll manufacture a visit to his office.”

He disconnected and refocused on that task, and if he perhaps made it a bit more complex an identity than he precisely needed it to be, well, no one would know but him.

\---

Getting into the firm and getting access to Mr. Wilson’s office were simple feats in comparison to finding an excuse to get near his phone; he kept it on his person at all times, constantly checking that it was still there, along with sneaking glances at Harold repeatedly while he worked.

“How’s it going, Harold?” Shaw asked, and Harold took out his phone, pretending to answer it.

“Yes?” he said, and nodded, pulling it away. “Excuse me, but I need to take this call—it has to do with the problem here, and given the security level involved I’m going to have to ask you step outside.”

“It’s _my_ computer,” Mr. Wilson said, giving him an incredulous look.

“No, Mr. Wilson. It’s your company’s computer, and your company pays me to make it secure. Please, close the door on your way out.” Harold met his gaze, unflinching, and Mr. Wilson grumbled again but left the room.

“He’s obsessively concerned about his phone. It must have sensitive information on it.”

Shaw paused on the line for a moment. “Think he’d be worried about damage?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Spill some water on him, near where he keeps it. You’re the IT guy, after all. He’ll probably make you take a look.”

Harold nodded to himself. “An excellent idea. Thank you, Ms. Shaw.”

They disconnected and he pulled a water bottle from his bag, loosened the top, and headed to the door to open it. “You can come back in, if you’d like,” he said, gesturing with the bottle, hard enough that it splashed all over the side of his jacket, including near his pocket.

Mr. Wilson moved with extreme haste in retrieving his phone. “Hey, watch it!” he said, frantically drying it on the side of his jacket that was still dry. “You better not have fucked anything up.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I suppose I can take a look to double check,” Harold said, affecting a long-suffering tone.

He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, you _will_ ,” he said, handing over his phone. 

Harold made a show of a cursory examination, finding and changing the Bluetooth settings without hesitation. After a moment, he handed it back. “Perfectly fine. Now may I get back to work?”

“Hurry up, okay? I’ve got my own work to get back to.”

Harold bluejacked his phone on his way back toward the computer.

\---

Grace called him just as he was about to go through the contents of Mr. Wilson’s cloned phone. “I’m afraid I’ll have to call you back,” he said. “We’re right in the middle of a particularly difficult number.”

“That’s fine, Harold,” she said, and he tried to imagine that her tone wasn’t somewhat knowing. “I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. And—well, I have a request, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course.”

“Could I have John’s number? I’d like to be able to talk to him too, if that’s all right.”

Harold swallowed. “Ah—yes, certainly. Here it is.” It’d never been so difficult to say any ten digits before.

“Thank you,” she said warmly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

She hung up, and Harold debated for a moment before calling John. “Mr. Reese,” he said. “I—thought it prudent to let you know that—Grace will probably be calling you at some point today.”

“You gave her my number.”

“Yes.”

John didn’t say anything for a moment. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

“Yes, I did,” Harold said after a beat. “I know I owe you an apology.”

John laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. “No, you don’t. You owe Grace one, maybe, but not me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I sincerely hope you don’t believe that, John,” Harold said, almost sharply. “It’s patently untrue.”

“Sure, Harold,” John said, sounding tired now. “Whatever you say. I need to go—these guys are moving again.”

He disconnected the call without another word. 

Harold pushed it from his mind and went back to the cell phone.

\---

“The contents of Mr. Wilson’s cell phone are… interesting,” he said, to both John and Shaw. “Almost everything appears of the ordinary, except I found several highly-encrypted documents. I’m attempting to open them now, though I imagine it will take a while—it’s impressive security.”

“Wonder what he’s so worried about keeping hidden,” John said.

“And paranoid about being stolen, since he practically keeps his phone glued to him at all times,” Shaw added.

“The facial recognition came back on those men who were skulking outside Mr. Wilson’s apartment—no matches that I’ve found. I’ve forwarded their pictures to Detective Carter, on the off chance she might have an idea. It’d be ideal if you could get close enough to get fingerprints or DNA, Mr. Reese.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, Finch.”

They disconnected, leaving alone Harold with his computers, and, unfortunately, his thoughts. 

_Later_ , he told himself sternly. He had work to do.

\---

“Harold,” Shaw said, voice filtering in.

“Yes, Ms. Shaw? Is there an update?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Those guys and Wilson are meeting. We tailed them to the same place. And there’s also the fact that Reese is super fucking distracted.”

“I’m sure Mr. Reese is just fine.”

“Every time his phone rings he looks at it like it’s going to eat him.”

Harold winced. “Grace is planning to call him today. I thought it best he be prepared for it.”

“Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “You three really need to figure this shit out, you know that?”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that fact, Ms. Shaw,” he said waspishly. “Unfortunately, we’re rather busy at the moment.”

“No, we’re not—you’re using it as an excuse. This case isn’t complicated enough to need both me and Reese. Give Leon a call; he could handle your end for a while, and the three of you could sit down and actually deal with this shit so it stops interfering with everything else.”

“How’s the meeting progressing, Ms. Shaw?” he asked pointedly.

“For fuck’s sake,” she breathed, and his phone buzzed in the same moment. An unknown number, with a one word text: _Stay_.

His eyes narrowed. “You think you’re being clever,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said. “The meeting?”

He could practically hear her roll her eyes. “It’s going fine. It looks pretty friendly, actually. Can we get audio?”

“Activating his phone’s microphone now,” he said.

“—and you’re sure?” Mr. Wilson was saying. “It’s important that everything go just right.”

“Relax, man,” said one of the other guys. “We’ve got it all taken care of.”

“Good,” Mr. Wilson said, voice relaxing. “That’s good to hear.”

“You’re wound too tight—here, let’s get you a beer. Maybe that’ll help calm you down.”

“No, I shouldn’t—”

“C’mon, it’s one beer.”

“All right,” he said, after a beat. “Just one.”

“Wonder what he needs to go just right,” Shaw said.

“His financials didn’t raise any red flags, so murder for hire seems unlikely,” Harold said, thinking out loud. “Mr. Reese, continue following them.”

“Planning on it, Finch,” was his brusque reply before he disconnected.

“Did I mention super fucking distracted?” Shaw said, and Harold said nothing.

\---

“Seriously, what the hell, where are you even taking me—”

Harold heard Mr. Tao before he saw him, being led blindfolded into the library by Shaw.

“Aren’t you supposed to be following Mr. Wilson?” he demanded sharply.

“I’ve got Fusco covering him,” she said, undoing Mr. Tao’s blindfold.

“Oh. Why didn’t you just say you were bringing me here?” he asked, then looked up at Harold. “What’d you need?” 

“We don’t require your assistance—”

“Get the hell out, Harold,” she said, staring him down. “If this case were actually fucking complicated, Reese probably would’ve gotten himself shot by now. I’m not working with two distracted partners. Leon’s got your end, and I can call Fusco or Joss if I need them.”

He’d been prepared to argue, until her point about John’s safety. “And you’re certain? About John, that is?”

“I wouldn’t have tracked down this idiot if I weren’t,” she said.

“Hey,” Mr. Tao said, but he quieted as soon as she gave him a look.

“Yes, how _did_ you track him down?” he asked, frowning.

Shaw smirked. “I got a little help from a mutual friend of ours.” She cut a significant glance at his computer’s web cam, and he couldn’t help but glare at it.

“Apparently I’m out-voted,” he said, sighing heavily, and stood. “Very well.”

“Come on, I know where he’s tailed those guys. I’ll take over for him.”

\---

Convincing John to let Shaw take over for him had been easier than Harold had anticipated. He’d put up a few protests before she’d looked at him steadily and said, firmly and clearly, “You _owe_ me.”

They now found themselves in a bar, sitting in a booth, not talking to each other. “I suppose,” he said, finally, “that we ought to call Grace.”

“You should call her,” he said.

“She wants to hear from both of us, as I recall,” he said pointedly.

“I don’t know why.”

“It’s only been five days since we—surely you haven’t forgotten everything in such a short period of time?”

He’d never seen that look in John’s eyes before—it stuck him as almost _unmoored_. “You think I could forget?”

They both started when Harold’s phone rang. “Grace,” he said and answered it, putting it on speaker.

“Hi, Harold,” she said.

“Hello,” he said, swallowing. “I was just preparing to call you.”

“Sam called me an hour ago and told me she took over on your job,” she said patiently. “So I think it’s about time we sat down and talked.”

Harold met John’s eyes. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You could both come over here, if you want,” she suggested, but he noticed John’s flinch.

“I’m not sure that’s the best possible location,” he told her. “However, I think I have an idea.”

\---

The hotel room was, of course, a grand three-bedroom suite with every luxury one could possibly expect. He and Grace sat on the couch while John took one of the chairs, looking everywhere but at either of them.

“I’m afraid I still don’t know what it is you want me to say,” he began, and Grace shook her head.

“That’s not the point of this, Harold. I don’t want you to say what I want you to say. I want you to say what you want to say.”

There were plenty of things he _could_ say, he guessed, but he didn’t particularly _want_ to say any of them. Speech could be so imprecise, so easily misapplied and even more easily misunderstood. He’d always preferred to let his actions speak for him. “I wish I could be better at this,” he said quietly. “You deserve that. You always did.”

“Harold, if I weren’t okay with most things going unsaid, we never would have been together in the first place,” she said, somewhat wryly. “It’s just that this falls under one of those exceptions.”

He gave her a slight smile. “I’ve missed you.”

She smiled back, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I’ve missed you too.”

He squeezed back, eyes flicking to John, who he thought might as well have been made out of stone.

Grace followed his gaze, saying to him, “You haven’t said much.”

“I guess I don’t have much to say,” John said, shrugging. “I think this is between you and Harold.”

She sighed. “You love him, don’t you?”

John flinched.

“Exactly, and I’m sorry, but I needed you to understand. No matter what happens, you’re part of this now. I don’t know why you think you aren’t.”

“Because I’m _not_. I don’t—” He stopped.

“You don’t?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t want to be?” she guessed. “Is that it? Do you not want anything from Harold?”

“Harold’s given me plenty.”

“But you want more,” she said, insistent, and he didn’t say anything to that. She frowned, obviously thinking it over. “So… wait a minute. Is it that you don’t think you _deserve_ anything more?”

He didn’t flinch that time, but the way he avoided her eyes said everything to the both of them.

“John, is this true?” Harold cut in, stunned. “But that’s just absurd.” He blinked, looking at Grace. “I’m sorry, it’s just—everything John and I have been through together—I can’t imagine how he would think he deserves less than absolutely everything I could give him.” He smiled sadly at them both. “Not to mention everything that I’m afraid I can’t.”

There was a moment of silence as John obviously took that in, and then he advanced on him without warning, dropping down next to him on the couch and kissing him with an urgency he’d only experienced once before—at the brownstone in Brooklyn, shortly after his rescue. He tried to kiss back with every bit of reassurance he possessed, gripping his shirt tightly. When they broke apart, John sent Grace a wary look, but she only shifted closer, patting him gently on the arm.

“Don’t worry about it, John. If you hadn’t kissed him, I would have. I still might.”

Harold gave her a startled look, and she grinned, leaning in and kissing him soundly. It was everything Grace was in a kiss—gentle and persuasive and endlessly passionate—and it was hard not to get lost in it.

When they broke apart, he blinked owlishly at her, then at John, realizing he hadn’t even let go of his shirt. John looked perfectly calm, Grace was smiling slightly, and Harold realized he had absolutely no idea what was going on.

“Grace?” he asked, unsure.

“You say things so rarely, Harold,” she said, shaking her head. “And that’s fine, usually, because you show them so frequently… but every so often, it’s nice to hear it out loud.”

“I still don’t…” He sighed. “I can’t give either of you what you deserve.”

“I don’t know why you’re both so caught up on what everyone _deserves_ ,” Grace said, shaking her head. “I don’t want you to love me because you think I deserve it. I don’t care what I deserve. You can give me what I _want_ , Harold, and that’s much more important. I think John might agree.”

John smiled a little, the first hint of happiness that Harold had seen from him in a while. “I see why you fell in love with her, Harold.”

Grace smiled brightly at him, squeezing his shoulder. John’s smile widened in response.

“I knew you wanted this,” she said to him, a slight teasing edge to her tone. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“He’s yours,” he said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Grace laughed. “No, John, I think he’s ours.”

John looked almost overwhelmed, like a man who’d just had the existence of God confirmed right before his eyes.

“Do you—” Harold stopped, not sure exactly what he should say. “I have to admit, I’m feeling a little out of my depth at the moment.”

She smiled at him, leaning in and kissing him again, just as passionately as before. He felt John’s hands on him at the same time, slowly unbuttoning his jacket and then his vest, loosening his tie. When Grace pulled back, John glanced at her. “Can I?”

Grace reached out to briefly squeeze his shoulder again. “Of course, John. Ours, remember?”

John was kissing him again before she’d even finished the sentence; Grace shifted, fingers curling around Harold’s thigh, her other hand combing through his hair.

He had to catch his breath when John broke that kiss. “I—I’m not sure I quite understand what’s happening here.”

Grace smiled at him. “We’re giving you what _you_ want, Harold. You said you thought you couldn’t have it, but I think you can. I think we all can.”

“But how can either of you possibly—”

“He’s thinking too much,” John interrupted.

“Yes,” she said, amused. “He does that.” Her kiss that time was slow and languid, an exploration, a reminder. He had memories of kissing Grace like this, on sleepy Sundays and early mornings, before they let the world intrude. They paled in direct comparison to the real thing; he’d missed them in a way that he couldn’t quite define, an aching emptiness that he’d carried with him for the past three years. “I don’t think it’s as broken up as you think, Harold,” she said, slightly breathlessly, when they parted. “I don’t think there’s a part of you that loves John and another, separate part of you that loves me. I think it’s all the same part, woven together.”

He reached out to touch her face, gently sliding a finger across her cheek. “And that’s—acceptable?”

“I told you last night, Harold—I want _you_. It just so happens that John’s part of that now, as much as he keeps acting like he isn’t.”

Harold glanced over at John, reaching out to touch his face as well. “She’s right, John—you are aware of that, aren’t you?”

John swallowed and surged forward, kissing him deeply, hungrily. He’d missed that too, the way John sometimes kissed him like this, like he needed to kiss him more than he needed to breathe, like he had to make every one count, because there might not be another one. “Yes,” he said, in a shuddery voice, when he pulled away. “I am now.”

“And this—what Grace is proposing—that’s acceptable—”

John cut him off with another kiss. “I think we might need her, Harold,” he said wryly, after. “We keep screwing things up on our own.”

Harold let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Yes, that’s certainly accurate.”

Grace grinned, dropping another kiss on his lips. “I’m glad to help.” 

He smiled at her and kissed her back, drawing her in close. John was touching him again, up his chest, down his thighs, ghosting the lightest of touches over his growing erection. He gasped into Grace’s mouth, and she pulled back, but gave him another peck for good measure. “Maybe we should move,” she said, glancing at both of them.

“We have three bedrooms to pick from,” John said, more dryly than Harold felt he ought to have been capable, especially since speech had apparently deserted _him_. He had a far too detailed imagination.

“Ah,” he managed, after a moment. “I believe that one is the largest,” he said, indicating the master bedroom.

“Let’s go,” she said, somewhat mischievously, and she stood, then John. He followed them into the bedroom. 

“Nicely done, Harold,” John said. “That’s a big bed.”

Harold flushed. “I assure you, I hadn’t been anticipating—this.”

He grinned, moving closer, kissing him deeply; Harold clutched at his shoulder, holding him there, and John swayed even closer, seemingly content to stay put until Harold pulled away. He glanced at Grace, who had a very bright, glassy look in her eyes. 

“Wow, that’s…” she said, and grinned, not bothering to finish the sentence. She crowded in a moment later, with an urgent, passionate kiss, and Harold felt his jacket and his vest being peeled off of him by John’s hands. 

“How is this,” he gasped, when Grace broke the kiss, “excuse me, how is this—going to work?”

“Well,” Grace said, obviously considering, “that depends on what you want.”

“I know what I want,” John said, before Harold could formulate a reply. He kneeled in front of him a moment later, unbuckling Harold’s belt and pulling it free, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor, next to the other pieces of his clothing. Surprisingly, Harold couldn’t bring himself to care.

John made quick work of his fly, pushing down his pants and boxers, swallowing his cock in one fluid motion, making Harold curse and reach for his head and shoulder. He tried not to tug when he felt John’s tongue slide across the head of his cock, but his hips jerked involuntarily.

John groaned around him, breathing hard through his nose, and met his eyes. 

Slowly, experimentally, he rocked his hips forward; John groaned again and took it, eyes falling shut. He continued to gently thrust into John’s mouth, while John made muffled noises of approval, vibrations carrying through his cock, making him pant and gasp in turn.

“John, please don’t finish,” he managed, breathlessly. “I’d like to bring you off myself.”

At that, John wasn’t the only one to make a noise; he glanced over at a sharp inhale from Grace, who had disrobed and was now on the bed, touching herself, eyes locked on him and John. Their gazes met and he felt hotter than ever, every part of him overheated. 

He tugged in warning at John’s hair, and his thrusts increased in speed; he shouted as he came hard, and John swallowed it all, even cleaning him up before he pulled back, wiping his mouth and resting on his heels. 

Even from this angle, Harold could see how hard he was, bulge straining against the fly of his pants. 

“We should finish getting undressed,” Harold said, and began to do just that, joining Grace on the bed after. He leaned in and kissed her, touching her, reacquainting himself with her body. It’d been years since he’d touched her like this, years since she sighed and arched and pressed into his hands, and he’d somehow forgotten just how intoxicating it could be.

He felt the bed dip as John got in, on his other side, and he paused in trailing kisses down Grace’s abdomen. “Please don’t touch yourself, John. I know how close you are.”

Both John and Grace let out hisses of breath, and he dropped another kiss on her hip.

It took some trial and error, remembering just where to touch and just where to kiss, but Grace guided him, gently shifting him in the right direction, reminding him, and he re-mapped every sensitive spot with his hands, with his mouth, committing them back to memory. He loved doing this, loved pushing Grace to the point where she was writhing under him, actually cursing in between breathless murmurs, arching up into him. He used his tongue with precision, drawing out moans, and pressed his fingers into her, making her breathing speed up. Slowly, achingly, he brought her closer, closer, until she was right at the edge, her face nearly as red as her hair and her fingers flexing uselessly in the sheets, lips slightly parted, gasping. 

He dropped one last kiss on her stomach before he pushed her over, mouth and hands working, until he was rewarded with a loud, sharp cry, possibly his name, possibly nonsense, probably both.

Grace sank back against the bed, boneless. He surveyed her, the flush of her skin, and smiled. She smiled back at him and said, “Someone’s still waiting, Harold.”

Harold turned to John, who was, in fact, still waiting. Harold couldn’t help but think he looked beautiful, naked and stretched out on the bed, hands determinedly above his head, cock hard and leaking, eyes dark and hungry. He looked like he _ached_.

Harold kissed him without touching him, which made John groan. He knew it wouldn’t take much, just a few strokes, and he wanted to savor this, the way John looked when he wanted. He didn’t get to see it often enough.

He ghosted a hand along his chest, and John’s eyes fell shut, breathing turning more erratic. Harold touched his thighs, his shoulders, just touching, feeling the strength underneath his hands, at his mercy.

John’s eyes were still closed, so he gently brushed a hand across his face. When he opened them, Harold met his gaze and took John’s cock in hand, pumping just twice before John came forcefully, surging forward to kiss him as he did.

After, they cleaned each other up as best they could with warm, wet wash cloths found in the bathroom, and then they settled into the bed—more than large enough for all three of them, Harold in the middle, on his back, John and Grace curled against him on either side.

They fell asleep together.

[](http://imgur.com/mWBdn7c)

\---

Considering the previous evening, Harold was surprised to find himself waking up alone—at least until he heard movement in the common room, as well as quiet conversation.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Grace said, and it sounded like she was amused. “I can’t believe they _let you_.”

“I’m persuasive,” John replied, also sounding amused.

“It smells wonderful, I have to admit—and that’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone make this.”

Their voices faded as they moved further away from the bedroom door, and intrigued, Harold put on his glasses and got out of bed, entirely unsurprised to find his suit, pressed and waiting for him, in the en suite bathroom. He emerged from the room shortly after getting dressed, spotting Grace and John unloading the contents of a large bag onto the table in the dining-type portion of the room.

“Room service?” he asked, and they looked up, exchanging a conspiratorial glance before turning their attention on him; John gave him a satisfied smirk, whereas Grace smiled brightly, slightly mischievous. 

“John convinced the kitchen to let him cook us breakfast,” Grace said.

“I was very persuasive.”

“Yes, and how much did you bribe them?” he asked, deadpan. 

Grace laughed. “I think it was a lot,” she said.

He moved closer, joining them around the table; whatever John had made, Grace had been right: it smelt absolutely divine. 

“It was worth it,” John said confidently, and leaned down to kiss Harold the second he was within reach.

“It _smells_ worth it,” Grace agreed, kissing him as well. “It was fun watching you make it.”

“I like to cook,” he said, shrugging.

“I could tell,” she said, beaming. “It’s fun, creating something, isn’t it?”

They shared another glance—this one warm, shy, almost secretive.

The thought occurred to Harold that he would need to get used things like that, and once it had, he realized he wanted that more than anything—the three of them, getting used to each other, settling in together, a constant, a _promise_.

It was one he would do everything within his power to keep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Let it Circle Back Around: Careful Exploration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/994486) by [Orockthro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orockthro/pseuds/Orockthro)




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